


throwing off sparks

by coloredink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Fist Fights, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I would propose that you beat me."</p><p>Will whipped his head around to stare at Hannibal.  Hannibal kept his eyes on the road, his hands at ten and two.  </p><p>"I believe acting out your murderous fantasies might allow you to exorcise them," Hannibal went on.  "And only then will we be able to move on and make some real progress.  Nothing permanent, of course.  No tools or weapons; just your hands."</p>
            </blockquote>





	throwing off sparks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fitofpique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/gifts).



> Maybe it's kinda crass to gift a fic to the person who also betaed it for me, but fitofpique basically had the entire idea for this, so whatever.
> 
> Look, I'll be honest: I'm just a fic-writing gun. You just aim me at an idea and shoot.

"I witnessed a great deal of unresolved anger and conflict back there," Hannibal said, as they pulled away from the stable. "It almost cost Mr. Ingram his life. I'm afraid that if you don't work through your feelings toward me, you may do something that you regret."

Will's lip curled. It was an involuntary gesture, like so many of his emotions and actions around Hannibal these days. "How do you propose I resolve it? By killing you?"

"I have something less destructive in mind," Hannibal said. "I would propose that you beat me."

Will whipped his head around to stare at Hannibal. Hannibal kept his eyes on the road, his hands at ten and two.

"I believe acting out your murderous fantasies might allow you to exorcise them," Hannibal went on. "And only then will we be able to move on and make some real progress. Nothing permanent, of course. No tools or weapons; just your hands."

Hannibal made it sound so _reasonable_ , as if he were suggesting a course of experimental psychiatric drugs, or yoga. Will had to swallow several times before he could speak, "So, what, I come over to your place one night and wale on you?"

“I would suggest a more neutral location," Hannibal said. "But, yes, that is essentially my proposal. You do not have to decide now,” he added.

Bloodying his knuckles on Hannibal's body. Making Hannibal cry out in pain. Wrapping his hands around Hannibal's neck and squeezing, watching Hannibal's eyes dim as he struggled for breath. Will’s fingers twitched on the armrests. His heart rate sped up. No doubt Hannibal could detect all of these little changes in Will's body, but he remained immovable and inscrutable in the driver's seat.

"I'll think about it," Will said.

\-----

A few days later, Will received an invitation in the mail, hand lettered, on cream-colored card stock, with a matching envelope. It read:

 

> _Dear Will:_
> 
> _Please grant me the pleasure of your company this coming Saturday, November the 9th, at 6:00 pm, at the following address._
> 
> _Four Seasons_  
>  _200 International Drive Room 1701_  
>  _Baltimore, Maryland 21210_
> 
> _Dress comfortably. Dinner will be served._
> 
> _If you are unavailable, please let me know immediately, and I will make alternative arrangements._
> 
> _Very sincerely yours,_
> 
> _Hannibal Lecter_

He'd included his phone number, as if Will didn't already know it.

Will had thought about their conversation a great deal, as a matter of fact, and had masturbated to it once. He hadn't been able to come, and the experience had left him confused and angry, though at who or what he hadn't been able to tell. Will knew that he wanted Hannibal's blood on his hands, that he wanted to see what pain looked like on Hannibal's face. He wasn't sure if he should have it.

He threw the card on top of the piano and took the dogs out for a walk. It felt good to work up a sweat and afterward he was able to pull out his phone and text Hannibal.

_okay. what should i bring?_

_Nothing but your anger_ , Hannibal replied.

\----

Hannibal had left a key card with the concierge, and Will needed it to take the elevator up to the 17th floor. He smiled and made eye contact and pretended to be a normal human being, but he was sure that someone at the Four Seasons would notice that he didn't actually belong there, that his pulse was elevated and his hand sweaty around the handle of his paper bag. No one said anything, which Will attributed to his dress pants and button-down shirt and cashmere sweater. The invitation had said to "dress comfortably," which Will assumed meant comfortable for Hannibal and the Four Seasons, not for a man with seven dogs who lived in an old farmhouse. It was a long ride to the top floor in a gold-and-marble elevator, and a long walk down the hall to room 1701, which was in a corner. He knocked instead of using the key card.

The sight of Hannibal opening the door was so familiar that for a moment Will forgot that he was in the Four Seasons; he might well have been here for a therapy appointment or for dinner. He supposed he was here for both, though Hannibal was dressed informally by his standards: his shirt was open at the collar, he wore no jacket or waistcoat, and his feet were bare. Will had never seen Hannibal's feet before, and he wanted to stare. Instead, he yanked his eyes up and handed Hannibal the gift bag.

Hannibal took the bag, which was obviously wine. "This was unnecessary," he said. He sounded surprised.

"I didn't want to be rude," Will said, with the briefest of pauses before the last word. Hannibal's face did not change to acknowledge the barb, but he held the door open so that Will could enter.

Will had expected extravagance--nothing less, from Dr. Hannibal Lecter--but he was not prepared for this. The suite's living room had more furniture than Will owned: a loveseat, a sofa, four club chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the harbor and the slate gray sky. There was a balcony. The floors were hardwood. It looked like a magazine advertisement.

Hannibal reappeared, sans bottle of wine. He unbuttoned his cuffs. "Shall we begin?"

"What?" Will jerked his eyes away from the view. He wanted to be outside, with the wind on his face. "I thought you said there would be dinner."

Hannibal paused. "I thought afterward," he said. "This business is difficult on a full stomach. Would you prefer to dine now?"

Will’s stomach was eating its own tension. He shook his head. "No, no, you're right." He tugged off his sweater and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. Upon reflection, he toed off his shoes and socks. The floor was cool under his feet.

"I took the precaution of renting the room below us as well,so there's no need to worry about noise. I'd prefer to confine the proceedings to this room, as there's a flat-screen TV and a grand piano in the other rooms that would be very expensive to repair or replace."

"The proceedings," Will muttered, as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them as well. "Are we talking about fighting or fucking?"

"Is there a difference?"

"You _did_ get us a hotel room." Will curled one hand into a fist and glared at Hannibal, who stood with his hands by his sides, relaxed and waiting. He was close enough that Will could reach out and punch him, which was the whole point. But Will still couldn't believe that this was happening, that Hannibal was just going to stand there and let him do it.

"Well?" said Hannibal. When Will didn't move, Hannibal's expression relaxed, just fractionally, with understanding. "Ah, you require encouragement. Very well." And he stepped forward and gave Will a resounding slap, hard enough that Will's head rocked to the side.

It had been designed to surprise, not actually hurt, but it did sting. Will wasn't aware that that he'd lunged forward and punched Hannibal until his knuckles woke in a flare of pain. Hannibal staggered back, his head snapping back from the force of it, and Will didn't know why he hadn't done this weeks ago. The day he'd gotten out of prison. Why had he brought a gun when he could have broken Hannibal apart with his bare hands?

Will’s next punch glanced off Hannibal's forearm. So he wasn't just going to stand there and let Will punch him. Well, that was fine. Will pressed forward, arms cocked, until Hannibal's back hit the wall. He grinned, ready to give Hannibal a punch to the face or bruise his ribs, whichever opportunity presented itself first, when Hannibal snagged a watercolor of the harbor off the wall and brought it down over Will's head.

The glass cracked but didn't shatter, though it _hurt_. Will cursed and ducked, and it was enough for Hannibal to dart away and circle until he was behind Will, his back to the living room furniture. Hannibal moved with an authoritative grace, like someone who knew where his body was in space at all times, knew to the millimeter the exact reach of his hands and feet, and the exact reach of Will's hands and feet. He waited, poised like a snake.

Will took a step toward Hannibal, just to see what he would do. Hannibal moved into the furniture, putting one of the chairs between them. Will darted behind the loveseat, picked it up a silver vase full of flowers, and hurled it, splattering water on the upholstery and the floor. It was heavier than he expected and didn't go far.

"No weapons," Hannibal called.

"You hit me with a picture frame!" Will yelled back.

"The rules are for you, not for me. I have no desire to kill you."

"That's a fucking lie."

"I don't appreciate being called a liar, Will."

"Then stop lying." Will leapt over the back of the loveseat, and dove for Hannibal with both hands. They both crashed onto the coffee table, sending yet another floral arrangement flying, water getting over them both. The coffee table gave an ominous crack, and they both dropped to the wet floor, grappling madly, knocking over chairs. Hannibal slammed his forehead into Will's nose and hot blood filled his mouth and nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. He clawed at Hannibal, and Hannibal bit his hand, hard. Will let go with a startled cry, and Hannibal scrambled away.

"Jesus," Will muttered, inspecting the ring of teeth marks between his forefinger and thumb. He got to his feet. Tiny protestations all over his body announced that he was no longer young and would feel this later, but a larger part of him was excited. A larger part of him wanted to bare his fangs.

Hannibal waited for him on the balls of his feet, crouched between two of the chairs. His shirt was rumpled and spattered with blood. He had Will's blood in his hair, and his jaw was red and puffy where Will had punched him. His eyes were fever-bright, and he winked at Will, as if he were having the time of his life. The hair on the back of Will's neck stood on end.

"Giving up so soon?" Hannibal asked.

"Not on your life," Will growled, and spat blood on the floor. He lunged, and as expected, Hannibal moved to put one of the chairs between them. Will snatched his sweater off the chair and whipped it in Hannibal's face. Hannibal kicked his feet out from under him and they both went down, Will on top, and that was fine, that was good.

Will had Hannibal pinned, one knee on his chest, and he grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the floor. He punched Hannibal in the mouth, the nose, blackened his eye and was about to give him a matching set when Hannibal reached up and gave Will's nipple a savage twist through his shirt. "Fuck!" Will yelped, squirming away, and Hannibal smacked Will in the side of the face with his discarded shoe and bucked him off.

He scrambled to his feet, but Hannibal wasn't pressing his advantage. Hannibal got up slowly, still holding Will's shoe, wiping the back of his hand across his upper lip and inspecting the amount of blood that came away. "You've exceeded my expectations."

Will swallowed against the nausea that evoked. "Don't I always?"

"You do." Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled. He dropped the shoe and spread his arms. "Well? Come on."

This time, Hannibal made no move to defend himself when Will punched him in the middle of the chest. Hannibal doubled over, and Will brought an elbow down on his back, sending him sprawling to the floor. Will kicked him several times in the side, not as hard as he would have liked, since he wasn't wearing shoes. Then he realized that he _could_ kick Hannibal with his shoes on, and he paused just long enough to jam the shoe on so that he could kick Hannibal in the kidney with it. Let the bastard piss blood for a day or two. Hannibal made a tiny, choked-off sound and curled in on himself. Will kicked him one last time, then knelt and grabbed Hannibal by the hair and forced his face up. "Had enough?"

Hannibal peered up at him through a brown fringe. Blood caked his upper lip and his chin. His jaw was swollen, as was the skin around his eye. His voice came out in a rasping croak. "Have you?" He was no longer smiling, but some dark adoration looked out from behind his eyes. Will wanted to press his thumbs into Hannibal's eye sockets and make sure he never looked at him that way again.

He let go of Hannibal's hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm done."

"Are you certain?" Hannibal stopped to take a breath, resting his cheek on the tile; he didn’t seem to be able to lift his head on his own. "You'll never have another opportunity like this."

Will swallowed. "I'm sure."

Hannibal's eyes slid shut. His breathing was labored. Will was suddenly aware of the amount of blood on Hannibal's face, and on his own shirt, and his knuckles. He tapped Hannibal's face until his eyes opened. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." The words came without any conscious input from the rest of him, and he watched his hand curl around Hannibal's bicep as if from far away. Hannibal gave him a distant, unreadable look, but he allowed Will to help him to his feet.

Will didn't miss the way Hannibal's knees trembled or the way he walked unsteadily across the room. Now that Hannibal had gained his feet Will wasn’t sure if he should touch him. His own limbs felt loose and rubbery, his head filled with moths. He wanted fresh air, but he wasn't sure if he should let Hannibal out of his sight.

The en suite bathroom had a tub _and_ a shower, enclosed in glass. Hannibal reached in and twisted the knobs and water rained down from a spout overhead, drenching his hair. He stepped under the spray fully clothed. The water that swirled around his feet ran pink, then clear. Hannibal closed his eyes. Will hovered in the middle of the bathroom, wondering if he should run the tub, or leave, or--he really just wanted to sit down. He settled for kicking off his single shoe.

"Come here," Hannibal said without opening his eyes.

Will jerked his head up. "What?"

Hannibal opened his eyes and looked at Will. His hair was plastered to his face; his shirt had turned translucent and clung to his body. "I hit you very hard. I want to take a look at you."

The hot water felt fantastic, even with all his clothes on. Will couldn't have predicted what a difference it would make to have the hot water coming from directly overhead than a spout in the wall. His tense muscles unwound, and Will wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his feet. Hannibal brushed his thumb across Will's nose and under it, loosening the crusted blood. "Not broken," he said. He ran his fingers over the knot on Will's head, his knuckles, the bite mark on his hand. With all the blood rinsed away, Will could see that Hannibal was going to have a spectacular black eye in a couple of hours, if he could see out of that eye at all. His nose was swollen but did not appear to be broken. He had a cut on his bottom lip.

"Any dizziness?" Hannibal asked, touching Will's face again. "Nausea?"

Will batted Hannibal's hand away. "I don't have a concussion. _You_ might," he said, and tried to peer at Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal was listing to one side, though it was difficult to tell if that was because he was in pain or because he couldn't find his balance.

"A mild one," Hannibal agreed, to Will's alarm and surprise. "It doesn't require medical intervention."

"Jesus." Will put his hand on Hannibal's shoulder and felt Hannibal's muscles jump at the touch. Hannibal swayed and rested his head against Will's shoulder, just for a moment, before he jerked it up again. Will swallowed. "Okay. I think, let's get your clothes off."

Hannibal's hands trembled, and he had so much trouble with the first button that Will brushed his hands aside and unbuttoned Hannibal's shirt himself. It slapped onto the floor, and Will could see the bruises already rising on his ribs. Hannibal was able to undo his own belt, so Will stepped out of the shower and dripped across the floor to the linen closet, where he hoped he’d find a bathrobe. He did, and he handed it to Hannibal through the glass door, averting his eyes. The water shut off, and Will turned his back to peel out of his own clothes and put on the other bathrobe.

"You don't need to stay."

Will turned to see Hannibal tightening the cord around his robe. He looked tired.

"You have a concussion," Will replied.

"Like I said, a very mild one. I'll call the concierge and have them send someone up to check on me."

Will imagined Hannibal having to get up to answer the door for a puzzled housekeeper or being roused by an automated robocall every hour. It galled him for reasons he didn’t care to examine. "I'll stay. Didn't you say there'd be dinner?"

Hannibal smiled, but one side of his face twitched into a wince. "I'm afraid I'm in no condition to partake, but it only needs to be reheated."  
"Never mind." Will touched Hannibal's forearm. Hannibal was so still that he might have been made of stone. "You should lie down."

Hannibal gave Will an unreadable look, but he moved willingly into the bedroom, his steps just a little uneven. He tugged the duvet down just enough to crawl under it, still in his robe. Will hovered, bare toes curling into the carpet.

"Lie down with me," Hannibal said, his eyes half-closed. His words were slurred.

Will jerked. "I--"

"The bed is very large and very comfortable. I promise not to provoke you."

Will knew that he should leave Hannibal to rest. There were other rooms in the suite, one with a flat-screen TV that probably also had a couch, and maybe even another bedroom. But Hannibal's blood was on the floor out there, and so was Will's. Hannibal had a concussion that Will had given him. Will sighed and lay down on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers. The air conditioning was cold, even with the bathrobe on. "Should I wake you up, every half hour?"

"You could ensure that I never wake up at all," Hannibal suggested. "But I think you'd prefer to watch me suffer. You'd want me to know that I was dying, wouldn't you?"

"Don't say that."

"Why?" Hannibal opened his eyes. He rolled to face Will. "Are you no longer angry?"

Will searched himself for the anger he'd brought with him just an hour ago. He found only something cold and desolate, like a desert's night sky. "No."

Hannibal smiled, creasing the corners of his eyes. "Excellent. Then it worked." His eyes slid shut. "Please wake me for dinner."

Will waited a few minutes, but Hannibal said nothing more. Eventually, he got under the covers. Hannibal's warmth had pooled underneath them, so it was like sinking into a warm bath. Will turned onto his side, away from Hannibal, and closed his eyes. Somehow, he fell asleep.

\---end---

**Author's Note:**

> [coloredink.tumblr.com](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [sumiwrites.wordpress.com](https://sumiwrites.wordpress.com/) (if you wanna see the books I've written)


End file.
